


Signs & Symbols

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, NC17, unity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homecoming - not as easy as it would first appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs & Symbols

**Author's Note:**

> You can read [Cairo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4308135) first - or not! This might make more sense if you do...

The wait at Customs was interminable. James had assumed that given Lewis's warrant card, they would simply slip in, easy peasy. 

But no.

There was some kind of hold up which left them waiting on the benches for hours. Hard, white plastic benches facing the interview offices. The worst part was watching everyone else shuffle past on their way to collect their luggage. What fresh hell, James wondered. Why did they have to go through Customs twice - once on Alpha Station, once again in London. What was the point? Oh, he knew what they _said_ \- the dual offices were to prevent people from staying on Earth when they were meant to be passing through, et cetera, et cetera, but James had always had a sneaking suspicion that the reason was different. Keeping out undesirables. He also had a sneaking suspicion he was agreeing with the authorities, which was worrisome, too.

Or maybe he just needed a lot more sleep. He was sprawled out as much as he could, given the conditions. Hands clasped loosely at his waist, bum on the very edge of the slippery plastic bench, back of the skull against the back of the bench, feet somewhat uncomfortably tucked underneath the seat, knees on the verge of locking up if he didn't move. Not quite next to him sat Lewis, catching up on the day's papers. Because he would be the type of man to read a daily paper. Of course, mused James, that really went with the job.

Overhead, the tannoy announced the arrival of _Mariah's Moon_ and within a few minutes passengers shuffled by, most of them looking gaunt and ragged, smelling stale. Even the children were solemn, leading James to believe _Mariah's Moon_ was a refugee ship. From which war, he wouldn't hazard a guess. 

"Come on," said Lewis, setting his paper to one side. "That's us."

James shot to his feet, regretted it as soon as he lost his balance. Lewis was there to catch him up, as seemed to be his specialty. His palm was warm against James's chest, leaving only the impression of heat a second later as he turned towards the office.

"Here we are, sir," said Security, eyes flicking towards James without judgment. Refreshing. The last time James had been on Earth, he'd been the subject of a rather pointed questioning on his girlfriend and whether she had fought back. James had decked the fellow; there was simply no reason for talk like that, and James had been in a corrective sort of mood. Perhaps this was a sign that things had changed, then? Maybe when he returned to Oxford - should he call in at Crevecouer? Would Scarlett even care? Did he want her to know how much trouble she had caused him? Because there was Lewis, now; despite their long history, Scarlett at her best had cared less that Lewis, that much was clear. No, she didn't deserve to know what he thought anymore.

James accepted his passcard back, put it in his wallet and that back into his jacket. He made to walk away, when Security said held him back by one shoulder.

"Excuse me, I'll need you to stay behind."

"What? What for?" asked James, jerking back. "I have a friend who needs a confession."

Which wasn't precisely a lie. Will had sent him pleading letters, one after another, begging him to come home and hear his confession. James had written back after each one, begging for more information. Will had never said what the problem was, which was very like him. For all of his Love and Compassion talk, Will clammed right up when there wasn't a drink in him. And apparently he was staying stone cold sober. James didn't know whether or not to be worried. At University Will had very much been a fly by night man. James might not see him for weeks and then there he would be, knocking on James's door with a bottle of bourbon, which he knew very well James hated the taste of, so James would pay for the both of them to go to a bar and drink the night away. 

The Security guard jerked back a little, stared at his computer screen, then back up to James. He paled, then grew red, then turned to his computer. "Sorry, Professor Hathaway. Thought you looked familiar. I've been following your broadcasts for years! Never thought I'd be one of them who'd get to meet their idol," he said, wiping his hands on his black trousers before reaching out.

"You're welcome," said James, shaking hands briefly. It was pointless correcting people about him actually not having a degree.

"Your theories about ancient progenitors are especially intriguing."

"Ah, well, I'm not so sure I'd call them progenitors," answered James, once again regretting doing that damned interview with Melissa Watkins. "Miss Watkins was rather overstating the case, I'm afraid."

"That so?" said the guard, whose name tag read 'BOLTON'. "Shame, that. Still, it's all damned interesting!"

"Thank you," repeated James. He made a mental note to bring up Bolton's comment at the next opportunity. 

Bolton nodded once. "Will you be doing another program soon?"

"I hope to," James leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. "I've just made some fantastic new discoveries offworld. Keep an eye out."

"Will do, sir! I look forward to it!"

Lewis gave James the eye as they went down the stairs to collect their luggage.

"What?" protested James. "My work means nothing if I don't have an audience for it."

"Really?" asked Lewis sceptically.

"No, not really," admitted James. "This could all be academic, purely papers that'll get published and stuffed into the back of some old collection in a library. And only available by subscription, of course, something expensive and so arcane even the digital copy will have dust on it."

Lewis chuckled as they crossed the long room to the luggage carousel, which was mostly bare at this point. They joined the other few stragglers waiting for their things, including the family that had walked down the corridor only a short time before. Lewis's hard case was the first to arrive, James's acid yellow, incredibly ugly, but highly visible case to appear next. From there was the short walk to the concourse and then, finally, they were outside so James could have a smoke.

"So," started Lewis, hands in his pockets, carefully looking away from James. "What are your plans once you've spoken to the department?"

James inhaled, felt the familiar, comforting burn, exhaled. He flicked the end off of his cigarette, then tossed it to the pavement and ground it out with his toe. "I thought I'd come back to Oxford with you, if you don't mind the company."

"Mind! Of course not, man," said Lewis. He bobbed his head to one side. "Was hoping you'd do exactly that, if I'm honest."

Pleased, James couldn't help smiling back a little.

"Right," Lewis unlocked and extended the handle of his case. "Let's get on with it."

The train in to London was as James remembered it. A little dated, but clean, stuffed full of passengers. Fashions were mostly the same, and apart from one passenger's eyes widening comically at the sight of him, he and Lewis were otherwise studiously ignored by everyone. 

132 King's Yard was a new build on Convoy's Wharf, a conglomeration of smoked glass and dark grey speckled composite stone that managed to glitter even in the brightly overcast sunlight that was so typical for London. They walked across a triangular plaza with a few oak saplings planted here and there, whose leaves would wreak havoc on the pavement come the autumn, a few professionals in suits of pale grey and black sitting on the benches drinking their morning coffee and tea, entertaining themselves with whatever they had on their pads.

James took his cue from Lewis, who was striding across the plaza at a fair 'get the fuck out of my way' speed, and firmly chose not to be overwhelmed by whatever was going to happen next.

It was all the picture perfect image of a corporation. At least until Lewis by-passed the main desk with its agreeably attractive staff, heading directly for a nearby door marked private. Nonetheless, James took the opportunity to appreciate the clean lines, practically cathedral-esque heights, and generally calm appearance of the interior, particularly the bodhi trees and the waterfall sculpture that was just on the right side of loud. 

He turned back towards the door in time see Lewis shove a card into the wall scanner. His warrant card, presumably. Lewis looked annoyed, though, with his pursed lips and air of going to see the school master for some infraction. James could well understand that particular feeling. In any case, the door eventually slid open and they went through.

"Follow my lead, yeah?" murmured Lewis out of the side of his mouth, which was really all James needed to understand what was going to happen next.

The corridor they stepped into ended in a t-junction, and had no doors from where they had entered until they reached the split. The walls were grey, the floor was grey, the overhead lighting warmer than James would have thought, except it didn't do a lot to warm the grey. Lewis headed left, passing recessed doors left and right until he reached the end of the hall. He put his hand on a sensor panel in the wall and a door duly slide open to reveal a lift. They stepped inside, the door closed, and though there was a four button panel - open, stop, alarm, desk - Lewis only clasped his hands together. The pit of James's stomach burbled as the lift moved...down. If the overhead light panel dimmed with the passing of each floor, James estimated they had gone to sub-level four or five by the time the dimming slowed and stopped and brightened to a flat, level glare that James found overly bright.

The door swooshed open to a large space occupied by desks, vertical readers, men and women looking at open files, chatting on selfones, getting coffee. A mirror image to the patio above, except these people all glanced their way as soon as they stepped out of the lift before returning their attention to whatever else they were doing.

Once again Lewis went left, down the long line of desks until he reached the end of the room, where he turned left yet again to knock on the first door on the right, a half-glass door through which could be seen a suited man scribbling on a sheet of pale green paper on an antique metal desk.

"Come!"

"Sir - " Lewis began as he opened the door. "DI Lewis bringing Professor Hathaway as bid."

"Ah, yes, Lewis," said the man, standing and eyeing James from head to toe and back again. "Younger than I expected."

James glanced at Lewis, who had put on his inscrutable face. "And you are...?"

"Superintendent Icke. How was your journey? Sit, please."

Which was not the question he had been expecting, not at all. James took one of the metal folding chairs in front of Icke's desk and tried to relax. It was hard - the seats were just as much antiques as the desk. He wasn't under arrest, he hadn't done anything wrong, he'd merely crossed the wrong path at the wrong time. "May I ask why I've been taken from Cairo?"

Icke sat back, gripping the arms of his own chair quite tightly. He sent Lewis a pointed look. "Lewis didn't tell you?"

"Tell him? Tell him what, I hardly even know why I was sent out there in the first place!" interjected Lewis.

Icke held up one hand. "It's fine, Robbie, it's fine. We needed you back here, Professor - "

"I'm not a professor, actually," James interrupted. "I never completed my doctorate."

"It doesn't really matter for my purposes," said Icke. "I had Inspector Lewis retrieve you for matters of State security."

"State security?" asked Lewis, disbelief plain in his tone.

"Yes. I don't know if you keep up with current events off Earth, but in some of the more distant colonies odd things have been occurring. And by odd, I mean the sort of thing that was happening on Khemet, more or less."

More or less? James frowned. "What exactly do you mean? Murders happening randomly here and there?"

"Yes," said Icke, folding his hands on the desk. In all seriousness, he continued. "I doubt you're aware, Mr. Hathaway, but you are not the only person to have become obsessed with those symbols. This department does its best to track down those who notice, and usually manage to either convince them otherwise or distract them with things that are more appealing. We are not above threats."

"No one ever threatened me," said James, thinking furiously over his travels for the most recent years. His work had been mocked, yes, threatened, no.

Icke smiled, and it was almost genuine. "It was clear to us, very early on, that you would not be dissuaded from your research. It was, however, comparatively easy to ensure it didn't matter. Oh, don't look at me like that, Mr. Hathaway. No one _wants_ to believe aliens are real, or that we are not the masters of our fate. The very idea of it is why Unity created this department. Which is why I had the good Inspector bring you home."

James shook his head. "I don't understand. I thought I was returning to face Lord Kantor?"

Icke smiled again, this time actually amused. "You are. Did you not know Lord Kantor was the head of this department?"

"No - no, I would've known - "

Icke shook his head sadly, clearly bemused. "I'm not surprised. Lord Kantor keeps this kind of work close to his chest."

"And exactly what kind of work is 'this'?" asked Lewis, making air quotes.

"Ah...yes. That. It's a bit difficult to explain," Icke stood and moved to the bookcase, lifting the glass panel to get a bottle and three glasses. "Imagine, if you will, the discovery of artifacts in a Vicks tomb, shortly after the battle of Peking. Of course we'd all seen the remnants of the ceramic armies of Qin, those clay warriors and armies and servants, right down to the horses standing in their harnesses. If ask me they should've been moved long before Peking ever happened, but that's neither here nor there. In the course of reparations and the rebuilding of Peking, it was decided to tear down a small building on the outskirts of the University, between the playing fields and Liu Joseph Park. One Harvey Stafford was in charge, and it was he who noticed the odd symbols on the door, the door frame, and of course once he was inside, the windows. "

James crossed his legs. "What was inside the building? And how big was it?" 

"Hmm, the size isn't necessarily important. Think, rather, that the people who filled the building wanted something non-descript. Not a warehouse, which would be far too large and thus subject to regular inspections, but bigger than a typical British three bedroom house," Icke paused, his eyes momentarily losing focus. "Yes...yes, why don't we go over there right now?"

Lewis said, "Pardon?" 

"To Qin?" said James at the same time.

"Hmm? Qin? No, oh no," Icke said, shaking his head. "We'll go to the lab - I think that's be best way to show you what happened next."

The lab was the last place James wanted to go right now. He was sure of exactly the opposite, as a matter of fact. He wanted the comfy bed Lewis had promised him, and breakfast with good strong coffee to boot. 

Some twenty minutes later - after interminable grey hallways, flights of stairs, several short journeys by lift - they arrived at a set of doors at the end of another corridor. Icke punched a code into the wall panel. The doors opened automatically, and spread before James and Lewis was a room with oh-so-familiar symbols and artifacts

Hallways branched off from side to side, and while there were desks and desk lamps, the room was very dark apart from those small pools of light and the symbol that was everywhere to be seen. On the walls, on the desks, in the open books on top of those desks, one was even projected onto the ceiling somehow, albeit very lightly, a kind of reverse shadow of light upon dark.

There were people here too, though only two were at their desks. One wore glasses, and when he looked up to see who was coming in, both eyepieces reflected blue symbols - it was eerie and weirdly appropriate. James was reminded of a scene from a drama, where the protagonist had been stealthily creeping through a house, and the villain had been shown awaiting by the reflected light against his eyeballs. It hadn't been a pleasant drama; James had been all too reminded of his few days in the police force. There were other people here, though, he could feel it. Maybe it was the warmth of the room, the hint of a floral perfume wafting on the occasional puff of air not coming through the air system. 

"And here we are, the beating heart of the department," said Icke, gesturing widely. "Pedro, tell us what you're doing over there."

The man with the glasses looked up with the air of a someone who had been busy and expecting to be called away from his work. In short, snappy. With pursed lips and clearly unhappy at being interrupted with whatever he was doing, Pedro nodded once and stood up. He waved at the walls. "What you can see here are symbols of varying variety - "

Varying variety? James could practically feel the sudden spike of hilarity from Lewis. 

" - from all around the world. "

"All around the world?" asked Lewis, rocking forward on his toes a little. "Y'mean there's more than one symbol?"

Pedro blinked, flicked a glance at Icke, then looked back at James and Lewis, brows drawn ever so slightly together. He started to speak, stopped, gathered himself and began again. "Right. Perhaps Professor Hathaway should tell me what you know about it. Though I have, uh, read all your books. All of us here have."

Oh _God_.

"An image I've seen from my childhood," James answered. "I saw it everywhere, books, dreams, architecture."

"You saw only one symbol?"

"Until I left Earth, yes."

Pedro nodded. He quickly typed something and a screen went live on the far wall. "So...do any of these look familiar?"

Four random squiggles popped up, similar only in their unsimilarity. One was angular, another had soft curves, the third was a series of dots that almost made sense so long as James wasn't looking directly at it, while the fourth was a blur that try as he might, also made no sense. "No."

"Can you tell which one comes from England as opposed to the one from Wales?"

James shrugged, then pointed at the dotty one. "At a guess, I'd say that one."

"And you'd be wrong. That symbol comes from the _Inuiy_. And that one in the lower left, from Bangkok. None of these come from Britain."

James frowned.

Pedro nodded, growing more animated as he spoke. "Yes! We find them all over the world! No one knows what they're for or what they do, if anything. We do know that only some people appear to be susceptible to them, and by that I mean only a few can even see them, and even fewer end up working for this department. And even out of all of us, I think you're the only one who's ever gone off world in search of more symbols. What I need to know, Professor Hathaway, is if you've found anything, anything at all that could help us with our research. Are we alone in the Universe? What do these symbols mean, and - "

"That's quite enough, Mr. d'Avila," murmured Icke, smiling just a shade unpleasantly. "We don't want to spoil Mr. Hathaway's thoughts on the matter."

Pedro glanced back and forth between the three of them, slowly sat down. He tapped the keyboard and the display on the wall disappeared.

"Now - "

"Why are we here, Mr. Icke?" asked Lewis, his tone brooking no argument. "You've given us the runaround, you've given _me_ the runaround - what's the purpose behind all this?"

James kept silent. He didn't even know what to think. Symbols he was unaware of? Others who saw them, and worked on them for a living? "Recruitment," he said out loud, shaking his head. "MI5 tried to recruit me when I was at Cambridge - it was you, wasn't it?"

Icke turned to face James directly. "You've gone much further than anyone else we've ever seen. We want you to work for us."

"Yes, obviously," answered James impatiently. "Why not just send a letter?"

Beside him, Lewis snorted.

"We didn't think you'd listen."

"So you sent me," Lewis said, nodding. "Without telling me a damned thing."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"No."

"Exactly. Given your...personal life, you seemed a good candidate."

Lewis paled, and James stepped closer, just in case. 

"What I would like you to do, Mr. Hathaway, is to spend some time with Mr. d'Avila, answer his questions, then come talk to me," said Icke.

"I thought you didn't want him talking to me," piped Pedro.

Icke closed his eyes briefly, then said patiently,"I want you to question him. Start with the Beta test, and then the Theta. As for Inspector Lewis, I have information for you as well."

James looked at Lewis, shrugged a little. Lewis lifted his chin a bit. Right. "I'll take your questionnaire, and then we'll see from there."

Icke smiled as if he had won the Lottery, and gestured toward the door. "Inspector, if you please?"

 

~*~

 

After James took the tests - a waste of time, he knew all the answers - Pedro brought him to another lab.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you about your last book? I have so many questions…" said Pedro, looking at Jams wide-eyed and hopeful.

Two could play at that game. "Of course," James said. "Lead on."

They ended up in a small lab down the hall from the testing suite. All the usual equipment was there, along with a technician putting a bit of something into solution. 

"Can I get you a coffee?" asked Pedro, practically jumping up and down in excitement.

"Black, two sugars," answered James.

"Right! Be right back."

"I'll take one white, with three sugars," called the technician, not looking up from what she was doing.

Pedro nodded and left.

James wandered around a bit. He had no idea of what was happening in this room. Science stuff, obviously. Finally the tech took pity on him and called him over to where she was working.

"Come take a look at this," she said, sliding off the stool. "We're testing some of the fragments that have been found to see if there's a commonality in their structure. I won't say exactly what we've discovered, but it's certainly very interesting."

James concentrated on the view through the microscope and hoped Susie would shut the hell up already.

"I've read all your books"

"Yeah?"

"Quite enjoyable. I've learned a thing or two myself. Did you really just stub your toe and find the quillion at Dar e Sliman?"

"Yes...pretty much."

"That must have been so exciting!"

"It was definitely a moment."

"That would be the best thing ever! To discover a lost city!"

James sat up, happy to ease the strain on his eyes. Unfortunately, Susie continued on.

She was very chipper for someone from Inverness, but that was explained by her American mother. She had studied at Goddard College, and taken her Master's at Harvey Mudd, followed by another Bachelor's Degree from the Rhode Island School of Design which, she breathlessly told him, had been the impetus for her to return to Britain and study art. After some ten minutes of this, she suggested they go to the break room instead of waiting further for Pedro.

"Of course I had always seen the symbols," she had said over a sleeve of Oreos and a white coffee in which she had stirred her three spoonfuls of sugar. "I'd see them everywhere, and for whatever reason I just assumed everyone else saw them too. You can imagine my surprise, when I started putting them into my work, y'know I used to be a painter, right? Anyway, I kept getting so frustrated, because no one ever commented on them when I started showing my work in the local gallery. In fact it wasn't until I came down to London for a show at the Sagamon Gallery that someone finally noticed. Of course he was only talking about the one symbol, because he's from Nairn, which is like ten minutes by train from Inverness, but that's when I began to realize there was more to the symbols. "

"More?" James asked, wishing his coffee was cold, with an accompanying Bourbon biscuit or an Eccles cake even a chocolate digestive. Better yet, a ciggie break. The NO SMOKING signs were frequent, however, and he still needed a minder any time he wanted to go to look at any artifacts, or the Symbol Room, as he had taken to calling Pedro's workroom. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I'm in the rare one percent that sees more than one, y'know? Like you."

James frowned. "I don't see more than one symbol. I mean," he amended. "Not clearly. Not like you."

"But they're there, yeah? I think not every symbol is for every body, if you know what I mean.

James frowned. "But...doesn't everyone? See more than one?"

"No," Susie grimaced and shook her head, raised her hands up as if testifying. "Oh my god, I cannot believe I am actually having this conversation with James Hathaway, of all people! Okay, so, people like you and me - no, let me start again," she paused, frowning. "Okay, so, when you were growing up, and you noticed the symbol for the first time, it was pretty solid, ken? Always appeared in the same place at the same time and in the same configuration. Then you noticed it showing up in other places, which was weird. Despite asking your friends and family about, when they had no answers for you, you gradually got the idea that nobody talked about it. You might have even assumed everyone saw it, right?"

James nodded. "At first, yeah, of course."

"Right, and then over time it became clear that yeah, not only were you the only one to see it, people thought it was weird you saw something they didn't. You got teased, maybe even bullied - "

It was as if she were reading the events of his life back to him! Which, on the one hand was quite eerie, and on the other very annoying. How had he not met fellow sufferers of visions?

"So eventually you figured it was just best to stop talking about it."

"Damned straight."

Susie grinned. "Okay. So maybe you keep a private diary, and in your spare time you note times and places you see it, and then you do lots of research but find very little on the subject. Now, in my case, I was at Harvey Mudd when I got so obsessed I couldn't do my work, and that's when one of my Professors took me aside and said that if I wanted to graduate, I had to ignore the symbols and get on with it. I don't know about you, but just having validation that I wasn't the only one to see it was life changing! Obviously I got my head screwed on right, but after graduation I kind of lost it for a few months..." 

She looked down at her hands, blinking rapidly.

James almost reached across the table, but decided against it at the last millisecond. He thought she might be the type to misconstrue that sort of thing. "Seems like we all have that in common."

"Yeah," she wiped the back of her hand against her nose. "Anyway. I ended up at RISD two years later. Didn't have a plan after graduation so I came back home, did some art, had a show at some hole in the wall artist's collective, and was recruited the very next day to this Agency, and all because someone had seen the symbol in my artwork. The craziest part? I'd unwittingly put in even more symbols without even realizing it."

"Oh?"

"Well, what I think happens is that some of us get so obsessed with just one symbol that we fail to see the others. It's clear from your sketches, particularly the ones in _A Language From the Stars_ , that you too were seeing many symbols," She raised both eyebrows. "You should go look, you'll be amazed at what you find."

"Okay," said James slowly, trying to contain the spinning of the world on these new axis. "I guess...why didn't anyone try harder to recruit me?"

Susie shrugged. "Not my division, I'm afraid. Although, I will say you're a pretty intimidating bloke."

Not the first time that accusation had been hurled at him. "All right...I can accept you saying that I see multiple symbols, I mean, I do, I do _now_. But my colleague saw them as well, where he never notice them before."

"Oh, really?" Susie perked up. She tapped at the keyboard to her side, then pulled it in front of herself. "Tell me more."

James shrugged. "There's nothing to tell, really. I pointed them out to him, and now he can see them as well."

She boggled at him. "Are you kidding me? It was that easy?"

"Easy? What do you mean?"

"Well - oh my god. So, listen, we've never met anyone without the innate ability to see the symbols - "

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said James with a snort. "If that were true, no one would have ever read my books or seen my documentaries."

"No, what I mean is that you can show people the symbol or symbols all you want, that doesn't necessarily mean they'll see the symbols in their every day lives."

Hmm. James wasn't sure that was really true. After all, hadn't he received a multitude of letters from people expressing their thanks? Admittedly, their thanks for him showing the Illuminati for who they were, but there were a few who had kept in contact over the years and many them had drawn or taken pictures of symbols unfamiliar to him. Interesting.

"Has that happened to you before?"

Thinking of Lewis and his probable display of temper should James spill the beans, he took the easy option and merely shrugged again.

"Okay..." murmured Susie, staring at the screen to her right. "let me just pop this info into the database..."

"I notice no one's answered my question, about what the Agency does. What it really does," he amended after her flash of irritation.

"What do you suppose?" she asked, hitting the backspace key a few times.

"Hmm, let's think it out loud," he said. "You're in one of the most secure buildings in London, yet only one small portion of the facade shows a gate where ordinary people can enter. There is a secure door, however there is no noticeable security."

"Oh, it's there. Obviously they're doing a good job if you didn't notice."

"No signage on any of the offices, nor are there another desks to consider. The lift took us straight down - oh, no, Inspector Lewis is intimately familiar with this building - area - complex. Even he, however, had not been to the sub-basement with you lot. Obviously recruitment is in the offering, but I can't figure out what else you do here besides research, and any one can do that from their own homes if they have net access."

Susie tilted her head to one side, smiling slightly.

"So either this is a conspiracy of some sort - "

Susie choked off a laugh. "A conspiracy? You've been out there for too long if you think this government is even capable of conspiracy. Go consult the Oracle on _Venom_ , I think he takes calls."

The Oracle. Right. " - or you're recruiting in order to find out who can see the symbols. Why you want to know this is a mystery."

"Okay, you're partly right. We are recruiting, and we _do_ want to know who can and can't see the symbols. There's a mystery there...but at this stage I can't really tell you anything else."

"Why not? We're all scholars here," he said, mentally encouraging her to do what he wanted and spill the beans.

"Nice try," she said, stretching. "Okay, Oreos just aren't enough today. You want something?"

James got a steaming bowl of ramyun that came with a slice of cheese and a hardboiled egg, added freeze dried spring onion and a shake or two of mushroom from the dispensers and a dollop of red pepper paste, stirred it all together. Even though it came from a machine, he was practically in rapture from eating the simple foods of his youth. 

"Good lord, man, eat it, don't inhale it."

James finished stuffing noodles in his mouth with his chopsticks before answering. "You just don't understand."

Lewis slid on to the bench next to him with his own cup of tea and a sandwich. "You're right. Never did understand the ramyun fad."

"You didn't go to school after funding was cut," said Susie, unwrapping another kimbap. "We all of us lived on ramyun and scones and those bloody sausage sandwiches."

"Oh god, I was trying to forget about those sausages," said Hathaway, eyes watering from the particularly large chunk of pepper he had just swallowed. He needed more.

"Don't we all. So, Mr. Lewis, how can I convince your colleague to join us?"

Lewis glanced at James with a discerning eye. Then he shrugged. "Y'got me."

James shook his head...Lewis knew him better than that. He turned his attention back to Susie. "Let me ask you a question instead. Are you afraid of the symbols changing people?"

"I don't know," she answered soberly. "Maybe."

"And your job here is to determine what symbols people see, and where, and how many see multiple ones. And then, you want to understand if what they see is affecting them, and how."

"Okay."

"But what you really want to know is who is making these symbols, what they mean, and what they mean for humanity."

"Well, look at you," said Susie.

James took a deep breath. "And the best way to accomplish that is having the widest possible database."

"Exactly," she said, beaming. "The fact that you know someone who wasn't able to any symbols, and now _can_ , well, that's extraordinary!"

"I guess I'd never thought about it," he mused. "We could run an experiment. Put out a pamphlet, or do a program, or - "

Susie was shaking her head emphatically. "No, absolutely not. Mention this to the public at large and we'll have a fright on our hands."

"Aren't you being over cautious?"

"You're joking right? This is the great unwashed we're talking about. They're used to getting instruction, not questions."

More was the pity. Maybe if people were taught to question more, they wouldn't find themselves in terrible predicaments. ...On the other hand, he couldn't deny that teaching the general public to question would most likely mean the end of the Union as they new it. 

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"So, you'll join us?" she asked.

"Maybe. I'll have to give it some thought," said James, abruptly tired of the both the conversation and the subterfuge.

"Let's head home, then," said Lewis, wheeling for the door.

No one stopped them on the way out.

They were on their way to Lewis's flat, when he received a buzz to call the office. His old office, apparently, and not King's Yard. James lit a ciggie as Lewis stepped into the privacy booth. He leaned against the railing over looking the Ifryd, watched a couple clearly in love throw an offering bouquet of snapdragons and greenery into the water. _Bon chance_ , he mentally sent their way. Maybe that would be him one day, although with who, and for how long, he couldn't even fathom. Yes...he and Lewis had made promises to one another on the way back, but they hadn't acted upon them. 

Yet.

He felt a little nervous at the prospect. Lewis hadn't made a move toward him - though neither had he made a move towards Lewis, all things being equal. Still. Should it be romantic or just a quick fumble? Did he want a quick fumble? No, no he didn't. He wasn't sure what he wanted, actually, but a quick fumble was not on the books. With a sigh, he took a final puff and flicked the butt into the river as well. A poor offering, but he didn't believe in Her, he wasn't raised Pagan. He mentally apologized, because why not?

Behind him there was the scrape of a shoe on pavement and when he looked over his shoulder, it was to find Lewis, paler than usual and a crease between his eyebrows. He looked utterly bewildered. He looked...wrong. James pushed off the railing and, after waiting for a group of tourists to pass, quickly approached him. "What's wrong? What's happened? Are you all right?"

Lewis slowly shook his head, staring at the Ifryd. "That was Chief Superintendent Jean Smart...she just told me that my wife's been murdered and that I'm to get to the station right away."

James stared at him for a second, open-mouthed. His first thought - not that he would ever tell Lewis, was that the idea was ridiculous, they had been together since they had gotten off the transfer station at Lagrange 4. His second was simpler. "Come on, let's get you to Paddington. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can sort this mess."

If there was anything that was quintessentially British besides tea, it had to be trains, James decided as he made himself comfortable in the seat. They were old-fashioned, slow, loud. They were the epitome of a Luddite refusal to use more modern systems of transport. They didn't even have vending machines, and a person could never trust the toilets to be clean. The plus sides were a sedate mode of travel, a staffed cart that trundled up and down the aisles, and beautiful views of the countryside. Funny, James hadn't even realized how much he had missed it until now, soaking up the million shades of green one could simply not find anywhere else on or off Earth. 

"Coffee? Tea?" James asked, glancing over the trolley and its offerings. He wished he could have a beer instead, or even a little glass of wine. 

Lewis looked at him and blinked. "Mm? No, nothing."

James bought a bottle of water and another of orange juice, two sandwiches and two bags of salt and vinegar crisps. He wasn't particularly hungry, yet who knew where the day would end.

They arrived in Oxford - oh, how familiar its environs! Funny how he sometimes felt more at home here than in Cambridge. Traffic was light and they made it to the police station quite quickly. 

The building that housed Thames Valley Police was a throwback to Brutalist architecture, British style, a four story concrete monstrosity of harsh angles and deep windows. James guessed it was under some sort of historic designation, because no one in their right mind would choose to live or work in such a place where beauty and aesthetics had been thrown out the window along with the baby. Inside, it was brighter than the windows suggested. 

The sergeant manning the front desk took one look at James and held up his hand. "Sir, you'll have to wait here."

Lewis swung back with pursed lips. "Allan, he's with me."

Allan shook his head. "Sorry, sir, new regs from on high. No one's to go in without identification and a badge."

"Oh for god's sake - "

James nodded at Lewis. "Go ahead, I'll be fine.?"

Lewis stalked off without another word, leaving James to bring out his passcard and do all the paperwork. 

A good thirty minutes later he was escorted to Lewis's office. He ambled around the room and then, noting in particular the framed pictures of Lewis and his wife - now dead, unless there was another one Lewis had forgotten to mention - and his children, he sat down in the executive chair behind the desk to look at them more closely.

The children were the spitting images of their parents - dark haired, smiling, sharing that peculiar mix of noses and eyes into a harmonious melange of whole different people. The pictures were interesting in and of themselves, with old-style wooden frames and a mechanical switch to make a slideshow. The progression of pictures was steady, though after a certain point, when the children were pre-teens, the boy began to look more and more sullen, more than the usual teen angst. James recognized the look, he was pretty sure he had worn a matching expression. The girl continued to age, until her final picture was of herself and her father, she was maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She had kind eyes, like her dad. 

The boy was the one who was the trouble, from what James had gathered of Lewis's infrequent comments about his family. Something to do with him taking sides, or some such? Probably the typical child angst when parents didn't get along. Probably. James was faintly familiar with the idea. His sister had gone with his mother while he stayed with his father. It had been...difficult. While he had long forgiven his mother for leaving, he still wished he could have gone with her, too. The pictures of the Lewis and his son stopped when the kid was oh, maybe fourteen. Hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched over, black tee shirt with the logo of The Marching Puppets on the front, and a scatalogical catchphrase on the back - James still had his own tee carefully wrapped in tissue paper and boxed with the rest of his things in a storage unit. Even Lewis's smile seemed forced, which James had never seen before, and God knew he had plenty of experience of the Lewis smile.

Voices in the corridor grew louder and James decided being caught behind the desk was probably not on. He managed to make it to the window before the door opened and Lewis swept in, followed by a woman in a surprisingly sparkly black dress. She wore a shawl, too, with long gold fringe. She took one look at him and stopped short.

"Professor James Hathaway, this is Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent," said Lewis with a sloppy wave of his hand between the two of them.

"Ah, the man you were sent to retrieve," she said, holding out her hand.

James duly shook her hand. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I shan't keep you. Robbie, go home, you're no use to me here."

Which was a bit harsh, even if it was true. 

Lewis opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. James took pity. "Come on, she's right. Let's get you home and settled."

Innocent nodded sharply. "Robbie, I'm bringing Allerton with me tonight, but I'll expect you next time around. Professor, lovely to meet you."

It wasn't until Innocent was gone, leaving nothing but a waft of floral perfume in her wake, that Lewis spoke. "I don't even know where home is anymore."

Oh. "Well...if you give me a few minutes I'm sure I can arrange something. Would you like a hotel, a house, a flat?"

Lewis waved a hand at him irritably. "I don't care. Somewhere with more than one bedroom. You're staying with me?"

James forced himself to remain focused on his selfone. "Of course. Wherever you'd like me to be," A bit more forward and suggestive than he had wanted to say, but he couldn't very well stuff the words back into his mouth now, could he. "Have you called the children?"

"Oh Christ, I forgot!" moaned Lewis, putting his hand on his forehead. "Obviously they'll already know about Val..."

"Why don't you call them while I find us a place to stay," said James, already moving toward the door. "I'll bring back some coffee."

"Just tea for me, ta."

Some ten minutes later, James was quietly cursing under his breath and ready to bully his way into a flat. Prices were outrageous! Money wasn't even the issue. It wasn't as though he wanted holographic walls and kitchen vending machines and sonic showers! Just a place with two bedrooms and the normal assortment of things, for the love of...cheese. He made a few calls and finally settled on a ground floor flat not too far from downtown, yet not in the back of beyond, either. It looked nice, too, from the pictures the estate agent had sent him, modern and clean without being utterly soulless. A month to month contract with the option for long term rental, depending on whether or not he decided to join the agency. Although he had a sneaking suspicion he would. Or maybe Lewis would choose to live here, that would be all right as well.

Speaking of whom - James caught movement in the corner of his eye and yes, Lewis was leaving the office. James fell in step beside him. "I've found a place, looks nice," glancing at Lewis sidelong, he said, "Make your calls?"

"Aye. Left a message with our Lyn, she said she'll pass it on to Mark."

After a stop off at a corner shop for beer and wine, they took a taxi to the flat, which was actually lovely, far better than the pictures the estate agent had sent James. Walls in cream, white trim, comfortable sofas in French blue, in fact yes, that's what he was reminded of; a French country cottage, old style. There was even a bit of common garden in the back, big enough for hanging laundry. James took the front bedroom, leaving the back for Lewis. 

Lewis took off shortly after a solemn dinner that he had barely eaten, leaving James to do their few dishes and plonk himself on the sofa to watch a program about ancient architecture. 

So it was that after two bottles of beer, James was half asleep when someone buzzed the door. He jerked up, terribly confused for a moment at the sound and strange surroundings. The buzzer sounded again - it was an angry buzz, too, James could feel the intent behind it, because nobody who wasn't drunk or pissed off would keep pressing the damned button over and over again without having some sort of agenda. Hell, he was beginning to get mightily irritated himself; that bloody buzzer, standard for flats all around the country, was definitely not among the things he had missed offworld. By the time he reached the door, he was so annoyed he didn't bother looking through at the security, he just opened the door. "What."

The young man who stood in front of James in a navy windcheater and blue jeans was whippet thin, with very pale skin and dark hair. His eyes were a nearly invisible blue, his mouth pinched. He gave James a look and stormed inside.

"Hey!" James grabbed the bloke by the upper arm, but the man twisted out his grip like a cat. He put his head down and charged into the flat. James darted after him. The man kept the sofa between the two of them, dancing on his toes like a boxer warming up in the ring.

"Dad! Dad!" cried the man, glancing this way and that while trying to keep an eye on James as well. "Where is that bastard?"

James heard the words with any comprehension, and then - "Mark?"

"Yeah, that's us. So where is he? My father?"

"He's not here. He left awhile ago, didn't say where he was going."

"That _bastard!_ "

"Why don't you leave me your details and I'll have him get in touch as soon as he returns," said James. "I know he'd love to speak to you."

"Yeah, right," answered Mark, settling down a bit and putting his hands on his hips. He eyed James, said, "So who the fuck are you?"

"Just a colleague," James replied shortly, not inclined to be pleasant if this was Mark's permanent attitude. He'd chalked Lewis's comments and bewilderment over his son to generational differences, but now that Mark was in front of him, well. Maybe Mark was just an asshole and that had nothing at all to do with his parents. 

"You look like a toy boy," Mark sneered,then he looked over his James's shoulder, the expression on his face going through a complicated manouever only to end up sneering even harder. "Is that who this fella is?"

Funny, James had felt air lifting the hairs on the back of his neck, but hadn't connected it with anyone opening the door. He felt passing warmth along his pack, and then Lewis was stepping around him, slinging a corner store bag onto the sofa.

"Well," said Lewis, looking back and forth between James and Mark. "I'm sorry about your mum, lad."

"No, you're not!" shouted Mark, startling the hell out of James. Mark pointed at Lewis, stabbing his finger in the air as he spoke. "You always hated her! You wanted her to die! I hate you - I _hate_ you!"

James was too slow to reach Mark before he threw a punch at his father, but Lewis easily stepped out of the way and had Mark's wrist high up behind his back in a millisecond. James was impressed.

"All right, lad, that's enough, enough!"

All the fight went out of Mark, then, leaving standing there, chest heaving and tears beginning to run down his cheeks. "This is all your fault! She wouldn't be dead if you'd stayed away!"

Lewis was frowning, and in the low light coming from the kitchen cooker, James saw how heavily grief weighed upon him. 

Mark was beginning to cry in earnest. Lewis let him go, but rested one hand upon his shoulder. "What do you mean, son?"

"She told me, she said if she disappeared it would be because of you..."

Lewis glanced at James with, shrugging one shoulder while Mark stepped away to sit heavily on the sofa. He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking.

"I'll get some water," James murmured on his way into the kitchen.

"Mark, what did you mean by that? Why did your mum think that?" asked Lewis, sitting on the chair opposite Mark. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You can tell me anything, y'know that?"

James pushed the glass of water and the box of tissues on the coffee table closer to Mark. It was all well and good for Lewis to ask his questions, but James had one Lewis had overlooked. "How did you know we were here? Who told you?"

Mark grabbed a tissue and blew noisily into it, and wiped his eyes with another before glancing at James. "Someone called, some bloke. Sounded vaguely familiar. Said you were back. Said Mum knew better."

Lewis frowned. "Knew better? Knew better than to what?"

Mark shrugged. "Came over here to find out, didn't I?"

Which was an answer that made no sense at all.

"I haven't seen your mum since I left, Mark. We only arrived in London yesterday, and were caught up in police business until Jean Innocent called. Your mum and I..." Lewis trailed off, threw a desperate look at James, then returned to a topic he clearly didn't want to discuss. "We...we'd broken up, right before left."

Mark snorted, a rather wet and disgusting sound given all the crying he had just done. "She was so angry at you for that."

"Well you can't blame me, can you? Bright came to the damned house! To _my_ house! That's how I found out about her and him," Lewis rocketed to feet to stare out the door leading to the kitchen. "Bright! Of all people...she could have picked someone farther from home."

"You left her," spat Mark. "You just up and left her, you have done for the entirety of your marriage! It's no wonder she had affairs."

A short, sharp silence fell, then Lewis swung around to face his son, head tilted to one side. "Affairs?"

Mark's eyes widened, but to his credit he didn't try and retract what he had said. He twitched a shrug, bolding it out. "Yeah, for as long as I can remember. Uncle Don, Mr. Tucker, Uncle Jack, Freddie. Y'remember Uncle Jack, don't you?"

Lewis swayed on his feet, the look on his face...James could have slapped Mark for this new bombshell. James could just slap Mark, period. "Why are you here?"

"To see my father, not that it's any business of yours."

"I didn't kill your mother," said Lewis, sounding tired and defeated.

"I know," answered Mark. He stood. "I just wanted you to know what you did to her. To us."

"Does Lyn know?"

Mark barked a laugh. "Of course she does. We're not stupid."

"Didn't say you were, lad."

"Well," Mark said, staring at his father. "Well."

"The funeral will be on Wednesday at ten."

Mark's face crumpled, and for the first time James felt some sympathy for him. He might be a jerk to his father, but clearly there was a lot more to the story than perhaps even Lewis knew. From what James knew of Lewis, however, he doubted it was anything beyond the usual 'couldn't be bothered to work things through with the spouse' nonsense. Of course, he wasn't married, and his own parents marriage was been a train wreck of a different sort...he had no cause to judge, really. Too bad divorce wasn't an option.

After Mark left, Lewis went directly to bed. James let him be, and the next day, went off to Gresham College with his begging bowl in hand.

"You're a madman!"

James pursed his lips, but managed to remain standing still. 

"You can't go around spouting this nonsense any more," said D.Powers, stalking around the corner of his desk to face James once more. "It's just not done! And given that it's ridiculous in the first place - !"

"Yes, m'boy, you left the planet and went off your rocker," commented D.Simm around his pipe, twisting slightly in his chair to raise both eyebrows in James's general direction while not actually looking at James. It was an infuriating, humiliating, belittling tactic that never failed to get on James's last nerve.

"I followed a lead," James grated out. "And I found what I was looking for."

"Oh, did you, now?" said D.Powers, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk. "A few off world baubles, some shaky filmwork? Or are you referring to the murders that happened at your campsites, for which you have no explanation?"

"Inspector Lewis did a thorough investigation and I have been thoroughly exonerated of any wrong doing."

"Ah, yes, Inspector Lewis. Who is now under investigation murder, or did you not know?"

D.Simm raised his eyebrows too, though he was clearly mocking James. 

"You haven't heard the news? It was all over the papers this morning. Allow me," D.Powers reached behind himself and grabbed the broadsheet James had seen on passing news stands and ignored. D.Powers held it at arms length and began to read. "Vale, et cetera, et cetera, citizens of Oxford, anyone with any information regarding the whereabouts of Detective Inspector Robert Lewis concerning the death of his wife, Valerie Ann, contact Thames Valley Police at blah blah blah. You get the gist."

Oh, James most certainly did. 

D.Simm unclenched his pipe long enough to say, "Nothing to spout about now, eh?"

"Sorry," James snapped. "What does it have anything to do with you?"

"Now, now," said D.Powers. "Temper, Hathaway, temper."

Quietly raging inside, James bit back his next retort. Simm and Powers were his last chance to get the work shown in Oxford, possibly Londinium. There were always the Americans, but really, that was a snake pit he had no intention of getting involved in. Going to America would do nothing but prove his skeptics right; he was a freak, crazy, insane. He might as well live on top of a mountain in an unheated hut with only a goat for company, if he went to the Americans. He needed legitimacy, and Powers and Simm were both his worst and last best hope of that. "Have you made a decision?"

Powers and Simm looked at one another for a moment, then Powers looked back at Hathaway with bright eyes. "We gave it a great deal of thought, and have ultimately decided that while your cause may be utter shite, given your Lewis's current murder intrigue, the Gallery can only profit from the publicity. So yes, Hathaway, we'll put on your show. Bring your artifacts, make your presentation, give us a good light show. We'll even throw in the snacks and booze for free. You just bring yourself and your...items."

 

~*~

 

"Ah, lass - "

James heard the door close, and when he looked up it was to find Lewis coming into the living room, followed by a woman who looked similar to Mark. Like him, she was tall, with pale skin and dark hair. She was fashionable in black, from shoes to jacket. Even her scarf was black, with silver lurex threads running through it an even through the fringe. As soon as she saw him, she smiled. "Hello," he said, getting up to shake her hand. "You must be Lyn."

"Yes, that's me. And you're James, right?"

James helpfully nodded. From the kitchen came the clink of glasses and then Lewis was setting wine and glasses on the coffee table. "Best idea you've had all day."

A glass of wine later and James was quite relaxed, practically napping while Lyn and Lewis talked.

"Look, Dad, it's okay. I'm not Mark, Mum wasn't the world to me."

"How can you say that?" asked Lewis plaintively. "Aren't girls supposed to be close to their mums?"

Lyn shook her head, smiling. She patted her father on the knee. "It's okay, Dad. It was always us two against the world, wasn't it?"

"Aye, pet, it was. Makes me feel guilty, though. Should never have neglected Mark the way I did."

"Oh my god, stop it," Lyn rolled her eyes, took a sip of her wine. "Mark is a grown adult, he can choose to be more involved if he wants. But Dad, I've got to be honest with you, okay?"

James sat up a little, in case it was a revelation of the sort that had been made earlier.

Lyn leaned forward a little bit and stage whispered, "Mark's always been an asshole."

With a wince, James leaned back again. Sounded like Lyn had the measure of her brother. Of course, maybe Nell was saying the same thing about him. Probably. Most likely. He never had been her favorite person, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

"Lyn..." Lewis swirled the remaining wine in his glass, lips pursed.

"Oh come on, Dad. We're all grownups here. Mark fell into Mum's clutches nearly from day one, the poor sod."

"You sound jealous," offered Lewis.

Lyn stared at him for a moment, huffed a laugh. "I'll give you that one," she said, turning to James. "I think I was nine or ten when I realized that nothing I ever did was going to be good enough for Mum. She just wasn't interested in me. I don't think she had a good time with other women, big or little. Up until then, though, I wanted the Mum you always see in the dramas, baking cookies and taking their kids everywhere."

"Don't we all," answered James phlegmatically. He had few memories of his own Mum, really more fleeting impressions than memories; the way she held her cigarette, how she would look at him, like a specimen under glass.

Lyn, though. All in all, a thoroughly nice woman. James was glad to have met her, and somewhat more glad when she left. Lewis seemed happier, too. Perhaps the airing of old grievances had helped him. 

Now it was just the two of them in the flat, and James listened to Lewis putter about the kitchen and felt quite content.

Lewis came in with two glasses of water along with another bottle of wine.

James raised both eyebrows, but didn't turn away another glass of red, managing not to spill a drop despite Lewis's jostling as he sat down. The man always sat too close - not that Lewis minded. James relaxed against the sofa, sliding down a little to rest his head against the back cushion. He looked at Lewis, enjoying the slow, liquid roll of his brain as he turned his head. "Are you all right?" he finally said, taking his time to blink and being amused in turn at Lewis's bemusement at him. "What?"

"I'm...I'm fine, I think," Lewis said, face scrunched up in thought. "Or maybe it hasn't hit me yet. All I know is that if feels like a curtain's been ripped away from my eyes where Val was concerned. That happened before I met you, I think. I want to say we hadn't been right for a long time, but the truth was that I was content," he shrugged a little. " _I_ was happy. We had the kids...I thought she was happy, too. Mark and I, we've never had the best relationship, as he said. Lyn was always mine, as Mark was his mum's...not the best thing to do, in retrospect."

"Mm," encouraged James, carefully sipping from his glass. Wouldn't do to get wine on his nice white shirt.

"I s'pose once I found out about her and Bright..." he shrugged again. "I had weeks to think about it once I left Oxford, and then of course by the time we left Khemet...well, I met you, didn't I?"

Lewis looked down at James, then carefully put down his glass on the table. He plucked James's glass out of his hand and placed that on the table, too. Time turned to syrup, with James watching as Lewis slowly leaned over to kiss him delicately on the lips, eyes open. James didn't hesitate. He wrapped one arm around Lewis's neck and fell sideways, wriggling onto his back while keeping Lewis on top.

Things progressed. Eventually James was both hot and sticky and somehow a glass had gotten knocked over, a scant trail of wine leading to a red puddle on the braided pastel area rug. 

"Well," panted Lewis, his hair going every which way.

"Yeah," James agreed. By mutual agreement they shifted to more comfortable positions, until they were sitting side by side once again. "You take the first shower," said James.

Lewis nodded and pushed himself off the sofa, wavered with one foot in the air until he caught his balance again. Holding his trousers up with one hand and scratching the back of his head with the other, he made his way out of the living room, leaving James to contemplate what had just happened and wonder if anything was going to clean that rug.

By the time he took his own shower, he still hadn't figured out how to clean the rug, nor did he really care. It was hideous anyway, wine was only an improvement. Wrapped only in a towel, he first headed toward his own bedroom, glanced down the hall at Robbie's room - the door was open - he paused. Worth a look, if nothing else. 

"Come on, then."

Robbie's gravelled voice took James by surprise, a welcome one at that.

Just as the hallway light clicked off, Lewis turned on a bedside table lamp, leaving him lit in gold like some elder god. James discarded his towel, noted the gleam in Lewis's eyes as he slid under the covers. He turned on his side. "How are you feeling?"

Robbie twitched an eyebrow. "Good, all things considered. Better than I should be, thanks to you."

James was glad he had managed to lighten the strain of the day a little. Undoubtedly tomorrow would be awkward, but for right now life was fantastic. "What's on oh - " he was interrupted by the most tremendous yawn, which brought an answering one from Lewis. 

"Sleep, gods yes," muttered Robbie, rolling over to turn off the lamp as quickly as he had turned it on.

James drifted to awareness on the back of trilling birdsong. Overhead was a white ceiling, and when he inhaled he could smell the thin, rich and bitter scent of fresh coffee. He stretched, enjoying the pull of muscles, the comfort of the mattress, the warmth of the duvet.

He needed to make a decision about the Agency. If he joined he would likely be stuck in an office instead of roaming at will. On the plus side, he would have a steady income, negating the need to drum up money via interviews, programs, and books. He would have regular hours, time he could spend with Robbie, and the opportunity to seek others such as himself. On the minus side...he wouldn't have his freedom. He wouldn't go off world on what appeared to others to be complete and utter whimsy, operating on the rumour of symbols found, instead of the reality of getting pictures on his selfone, never mind the fairly frequent package of whatever from wherever, enticing letters begging him to _come and see!_ The work would always be there, that was the thing. Robbie...Robbie would not always be there. Yes of course, life spans these days were greatly lengthened, why, the current Minister for Britain was eighty and hardly showed it! Robbie was thirty years younger at least - they had time, yet. Assuming Robbie wanted that. James wanted it. He wanted it desperately.

James rolled onto his side, snuggling under the blankets as the first drops of rain began to patter outside. Oh, this was the life. He was warm, he was dry, he was home. He was hopefully going to be joined very soon by someone with coffee, and if he were truly lucky, a bacon buttie with brown sauce and extra bacon.

"James."

"Mm," he murmured, pleasantly half-awake, aware of the strong odor of coffee combating the heady and heavy sweetness of fresh air. 

"So that's how it's going to be - "

The bed dipped on the other side and then Robbie was there, his hand cool against James's back and side, tasting of coffee and along his lips, a few lingering escaped grains of sugar melting on James's tongue.

James allowed Robbie to roll him onto his back. 

But then Robbie sat up and contemplated James with a more serious expression. "I'll be right back."

Okay, then. Given Robbie's tented pyjamas, James wasn't about to complain. He lay there, listening to the rain and thinking this was going to be the highlight of the day. He stretched again, gripped the bottom of the headboard where there was a gap, gave it a slight shake. It was certainly sturdy.

James closed his eyes and made himself relax. He was no longer in Cairo, but back in Oxford, where he never thought he would return, if he were honest with himself. No, he had envisioned himself roaming the Unity at will, going from dig to dig, searching for the symbol, trying to understand why it drew him on, why it fascinated him. Why it still showed up in his dreams. 

Robbie had brought him back. Not the murders, or the threat of violence to James's own person by entities unknown to this day. Robbie, through sheer force of will and an attraction James hadn't even tried to keep to himself, not after the first few days. They had not consummated their mutual attraction on their journey back to Earth. IT was almost as if they were waiting, though for what, James was still uncertain. 

"That's a good look on you."

James flushed and immediately released the headboard. Embarrassed by Robbie's open appreciation, he pulled the duvet up a little, thought about sitting up; didn't. Robbie was holding something - a rope? No, a bathrobe belt.

Oh.

Robbie climbed back on to the bed, straddling James's legs. He sat back, lifting up the belt. "Now, we can use this, or not."

"What did you have in mind?" rasped James, because really this was happening, and he wasn't sure he was one for tying anyone up.

"I want to...do...things."

"Yeah? You or me?"

Robbie licked his lips. "Not me. Not that I have, ever, but I thought maybe you might be willing...?"

James checked in with himself for a moment. He wasn't in danger, he wasn't scared, exactly. He was...curious. And eager. "All right."

"Just your hands, for now," said Robbie, knee-walking up James and putting pressure on the most delightful places. "Up on the headboard, like you were doing before."

Robbie did something complicated with the belt - James couldn't see and quite frankly wasn't sure how Robbie had managed it; the headboard was a solid piece of wood apart from the gap at the bottom. Nonetheless, his wrists were firmly bound and...well. Here he was, at Robbie's mercy.

Mission accomplished, Robbie moved back down again, taking the duvet with him. "You're such a long bloke. In all ways - " he winked at James. "I'm not quite sure where to start. Having said that, I've always wanted to nibble here and there."

Which he then proceeded to do, making James giggle and squirm with little fishy kisses along his belly and hip bones, stopping to blow the odd raspberry. By the time he was done, James was breathless and only half hard. Robbie popped up for a quick press of his lips to James's, and then he went exploring James's ear with his tongue and his teeth. James was so invested in what was happening to his neck he completely forgot Robbie had a free hand, so the pinch to his nipple was utterly shocking. 

"Y'like that, hunh," whispered Robbie, and did it again.

"It's okay," gasped James. "Feel free to move on."

"Right."

Robbie made it obvious where he was going. He gave James one more pinch before trailing his hand down, down, down, ignoring James's prick to fondle his balls instead.

"Fuck!"

"All in good time," murmured Robbie. 

Robbie's hands - his hands! Those marvelous hands with their blunt fingers - they made James sing in an altogether Biblical manner.

There were featherlight touches to his cock up and down, a firm thumb swept across the head, followed by what James - thinking back on it later, as his eyes were closed at the time - assumed were taps from each finger in their turn, growing progressively lighter until he wasn't sure he wasn't just imagining the touch, until he wasn't even sure Robbie had been touching him at all.

When he opened his eyes and looked down, it was to find Robbie looking up at him before swooping down and capturing him in his mouth. James groaned and let his hips roll up - as if he had a choice. He tried to be careful, but it was so hard, Robbie's mouth was so warm and wet and things he was doing with his tongue...

And then he pulled off. "Don't want you getting too excited," he said, grinning.

James let his head thunk back onto the cushion. "You're going to kill me long before that happens."

"But it'll be a happy death."

To which James could only shake his head. An awful joke made more awful by the truth of it. Robbie was clearly enjoying himself, spending long minutes jacking James and then squeezing the base of his cock hard just when he thought he might come. Again and again, Robbie brought James almost to peak and then eased off, until James was half out of his mind. Finally, he said, "Robbie...no more...please?"

Maybe Robbie saw something in his face, or heard the honest desperation in his voice, for he bent to his task once more. Taking James's cock as far as he could, Robbie then went up, sucking and stroking him hard and fast at the same time. Pleasure rocketed through him, heaved him from side to side, made his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth drop open as he curled up as much as he was able, guttural moans rolling out of his throat and probably shocking whomever was walking past on the street. He didn't care, and neither did Robbie, continuing what he was doing long past James had come, until James had to beg him to stop.

Relaxing all at once, James closed his eyes, jerking at every hot breath against his over-sensitized skin. After a second, for the first time feeling the ache in his shoulders, he opened his eyes again and glanced Robbie, who was red-faced and clearly struggling to be polite and not jerk himself off onto James's belly. Sweet, if completely unnecessary. "Give us a kiss," said James.

Robbie dutifully did as asked, crawling up James and giving him a hungered kiss that left no doubt about how he felt. Lazy and content, James wondered how Robbie might like his next suggestion. Breaking off their kiss, James repeated what Robbie had said earlier. "Come on, then. Up you go."

It took a moment for Robbie to understand, but when he did, he swooped down to peck James's cheek. "You're a star. I'm keeping you forever."

James grinned back. Oh, he wanted to be kept. As Robbie shifted up and up until he was astride James's chest, James said, "Watch your fingers," because they could be fiercely pinched where the headboard met the wall. 

Robbie's cock was smooth and satiny and all the things once expected when giving a blowjob. He was careful, though, not to push in too much to James's throat, for there with his hands still tied, James had no means to push him away if he went too far. His pleasure caught James, too, his on-the-edge-of-control restraint so exciting James wished he was seventeen again, wished he could come again and again.

"Oh, oh - Ja..."

There was a burst of salty acidity on James's tongue, and then his mouth was flooded with semen as Robbie shook and keened above him. James swallowed and licked until Robbie pulled back, slumping to one side while he caught his breath. They blinked stupidly at one another, then Robbie untied James and massaged his wrists, even though his wrists were fine. His shoulders...would recover. Robbie rolled onto his back next to James, who said, "We should get the duvet."

In the end, neither one of them got the duvet. Instead, they lay there like two idiots, growing cooler and cooler as both the rain and the breeze intensified. James dozed, the warmth of Robbie's body keeping him just on the right side of 'tolerable in this weather'. All good things, however, and Robbie got up, joints popping, to use the toilet. Thankfully he did toss the duvet on top of James before he left, so James was as toasty as the proverbial bug. He watched Robbie get dressed, admiring the play of muscle in his legs and his back - whatever the man did to keep himself in shape, it was certainly working. James gave himself a stroke or two under the duvet when Robbie sat on the bed to tie his shoes.

Robbie noticed the motion out of the corner of his eye and lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"On my way," replied James with a little smirk.

"Much as I would love to stay and help out, I have to talk to Innocent, go see Mark."

"Of course," James gave himself a fierce tug, just to feel the promise of pleasure postponed, then whipped back the duvet. He hopped up, bounced on his toes. "Good god, it's freezing in here!"

"That's what you get for slacking and not closing the window when you came to bed."

"Oh ho, is that so?" James headed towards the bathroom, playfully bumping into Robbie along the way.

"We're going to have work on your home skills if you plan on living here with me!" called Robbie, his voice dimming as James pulled the door shut.

A scant second later, he reopened it and peered out, only to find Robbie frozen in the midst of putting on his jacket. James idly noticed it was the wrong fabric for this kind of weather. "So..."

"Yeah..."

James nodded. "All right."

Robbie unfroze, blushing fiercely. He refused to meet James's eyes, opting instead for brushing imaginary lint off of his trousers. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll uh, I'll...dinner, yeah?"

"See you then," said James, taking pity on him.

Forty minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed in layers of his warmest clothing, James took a last gulp of re-warmed coffee and put it in the sink for later washing up. Just as he was about to leave the flat, the message chimed with an incoming call. 

"Hello, ah, Mr. Hathaway!" The man on the other end of the line blinked in surprise at the sight of James. "Ah, yes, sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to be home. Mr. Hathaway, my name is Rhys Powell, Rhys Powell the third, and I was hoping I could have a moment of your time."

"That all depends on what you want from me," said James, folding his arms. Damn, why hadn't he checked the privacy policy on the month-to-month lease? Or at least upgraded the messager so it wouldn't automatically open to video.

"Yes, yes of course. Mr. Hathaway, when news of your arrival hit my desk yesterday, I undertook to contact you as soon as I could. I have a great interest in your field, in fact, we share interests entirely - "

"Mr. Powell, I do have an appointment," a lie, but Powell wouldn't know that.

Powell nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm being forward as we haven't been properly introduced, so please forgive me. I want to offer you a job, Mr. Hathaway. A job involving the symbols you have been investigating for so long. I too, have been researching those symbols. I am fourth in my generation to do so," Powell shifted from side to side, gestured at himself. "As you can see, I'm a retired professor of antiquities. I've met many students like you, and though most of have gone on to do less esoteric things, a few have stayed with me. I would like to invite you to join us. I've read your work and believe we have many things in common. I would love to talk to you about certain aspects of our work you should be aware of, first. What do you say?"

"You're offering me a job?"

"Of a sort. I know there are...other, more well known agencies who must be knocking at your door. I hope to entice you to ours," Powell's smile dropped, and James felt like he was seeing the real person for the first time since their conversation had started. "We must speak in person, Mr. Hathaway. There are aspects to our work I would rather not discuss over the messager. But given your media history, I think we might fit one another very well. What do you say?"

James was intrigued. "Where are you based?"

"Here in Oxford," was the fast answer. "I feel we are best located here, for various reasons. Again, we can discuss all that when we meet in person. Oh, you would of course be paid. Family money and other concerns, nothing government related."

And wasn't that interesting. "All right, I'm free this afternoon."

Powell brightened. "Excellent."

On cue, the buzzer buzzed. James looked towards the door, looked back at Powell, who didn't even have the grace to look ashamed.

"I already took the liberty of sending you a key. I'll see you there at 2pm, yes?"

"Fine," answered James. Irritated for no reason he could put his finger on, he keyed off without saying goodbye and started for the door. All right, yes, he was intrigued. Powell was clearly a paranoiac, yet he had been a professor, and that did count for something, even if he turned out to be nuts in the end. And the crack about agencies...James wondered about that, too. A sly dig at the Agency, or just a random word? Either way, he was bound to find out in only a few hours. There was dinner and another fine evening to look forward to with Robbie - _Robbie._ James tapped into the security feed, looked at the young woman in her bike uniform and opened the door.

"Mr. Hathaway?" she asked brightly.

James showed her the requisite identification, signed for it instead of thumbing, and brought the surprisingly heavy package inside. What the hell kind of key had Powell sent him, anyway? Bringing it into the kitchen, he set it on the counter and slit it open with a steak knife. The contents were...well. There was a slip of paper with the name and address where he was to meet Powell, plus a sheaf of papers written in various hands. He saw Italian, French, German, Turkish, and of course Arabic. On the bottom was a short note written in...Aramaic? Another in Spanish - odd there should only be the one. All right, then, plenty to go through before the meeting. He could compare and contrast with what the Agency had told him, and since he had to make a decision, actually, this Professor could not have turned up at a more opportune time, he mused. Now all he needed was more coffee and a blank notebook...

 

*FIN*

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, still having severe server issues, still posting from work. 
> 
> Ugh.


End file.
